The School Traitor
by DorkQueen
Summary: The reason why Arthur and the gang are stuck in third grade is hiding in plain sight.


**Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the TV show **Arthur.

* * *

It's September, and Brain is puzzled.

"Mr. Ratburn," he says, "we already learned multiplication last year, and the year before that too."

The chalk presses harder against the blackboard. When Mr. Ratburn finally turns to face the class, there is an inscrutable expression on his face.

"Don't be silly, Allen. This is the curriculum I was instructed to follow."

"But Mr. Ratburn, this is fifth grade," Brain protests. "Why are we wasting precious time over third-grade material?"

Next to him, Buster rolls his eyes and Francine lets out a groan.

"I'm sure it isn't a waste, Brain," Arthur says agreeably. "In the beginning of every year, we go over things we learned the year before, remember?"

"Arthur is right," Mr. Ratburn says, making Arthur preen. "I find that few students will remember what they learned in June because of that dratted three-month break. Think of this lesson as a refresher, to help jog your memory."

Brain's eyes narrow.

* * *

Later, in the treehouse:

"A refresher? A _refresher_?"

"I don't understand why you're so upset, Brain," Muffy puts in. Her eyes are fixed on her chocolate-colored tresses, hunting for the dreaded split ends.

"Because we've been learning the same material every year, ever since third grade!" Brain bellows. "I'm being serious right now. I was looking through my old notes from third and fourth grade—"

"You actually keep your notes?" Francine says, wrinkling her nose.

"—and they're all the same! Every year, we're learning the same topics in a different order."

"I smell a conspiracy," Buster declares.

Muffy looks up from her hair. "Ooh, Buster, I'm impressed. Who taught you that word?"

"His mom," Arthur replies. "And he won't stop saying it."

"Probably because it's the only four-syllable word he knows," Muffy says knowingly.

"What's a conspiracy?" Francince questions.

Brain stops pacing up and down the treehouse floor and throws out his hand, making his friends flinch. "This is exactly what I'm talking about!"

"Brain, are you okay?" Arthur asks. "You're acting a little…"

"Crazy," Buster finishes.

Brain ignores them. "'Conspiracy' is on the American Teachers Association's fourth-grade vocabulary list. And yet we didn't learn it last year in class."

"I learned it from my private tutor," Muffy admits.

"And I only know what it means because I've read the dictionary," Brain says, waving his hand dismissively of his own accomplishments. "This is unacceptable! U.S. law dictates that every child is entitled to receive at least the level of education outlined by the American Teachers Association. For Lakewood Elementary School to deny us this is to break the law."

A hush falls in the treehouse.

"What do we do now?" Buster wonders.

Brain's face is full of determination. "Make an appointment with Principal Haney, of course."

* * *

Francis Haney gapes at the five who had marched into his office thirty minutes ago, feeling quite out of his league on how to deal with mutinous students.

"Erm…"

The African-American boy—what is his name, again? Alvin Powers, or something like that. Principal Haney had seen his name recently on some of the school's trophies. _He _was the one who seemed to be in charge of the whole orchestration and had provided an unstoppable torrent of words for the past thirty minutes. Principal Haney wasn't sure he understood all of it, actually.

The African-American boy now opens his mouth to speak again, making Principal Haney cringe. "Do you have a sufficient explanation for this substandard quality of education, sir?"

"Wait," Principal Haney pleads. "I'm not sure I understand. So you're here to protest—"

"Reprehend," the boy corrects.

"Sure, _reprehend_," the principal acquiesces, "the fact that you haven't been learning enough in class? Really?"

"Yes," the boy confirms. Behind him, a boy with abnormally long ears shifts uncomfortably and the girl next to him sighs deeply.

"Hmm," Principal Haney wonders. "Usually, we get the opposite complaint."

The middle-aged man stands up from his desk. "Well, no worries. I'll just speak to your teacher and we'll figure out what we can do to best satisfy everyone. Who's your teacher, again?"

The long-eared boy shifts some more. To the right of him, a boy with glasses gulps.

"Mr. Ratburn," the African-American boy answers.

* * *

Nigel Ratburn isn't pleased at all when five students and the principal come lumbering into his classroom. He can't say he's surprised, however. From the moment Alan questioned the school curriculum, Mr. Ratburn had known that this would happen.

The boy reminds him too much of himself at that young age: bright, inquisitive, methodical. The only thing he needs to learn is how to keep his mouth shut.

"Francis," the teacher welcomes his boss. His voice grows deeper and more menacing. "Students."

The students look frightened, as they should.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this rendezvous?" Mr. Ratburn continues.

"Well," the dim-headed principal begins, "the kids had a few complaints—_reprehensions_ about your teaching methods."

Oh, dear. Had Alan been teaching the principal new words again?

"Oh?" Mr. Ratburn drawls. The students look even more terrified and huddle together. "What kind of…reprehensions?"

Alan, foolish boy, steps forward. "The material you taught us last year wasn't up to par with the standards of the American Teachers Association. With that setback already existing, you can understand our concern that we won't be able to compete academically with our fellow classmates in this nation."

"Brain's concern," Buster Baxter clarifies hastily. "The rest of us are just here for, um…"

"Moral support," Francine Frensky finishes with a forced smile.

Mr. Ratburn tries not to chuckle. Oh, these kids. They were so endearingly stupid.

"I am gratified to see that you take such an interest in your education," the teacher says slowly. His gaze flickers from Alan to the other students. "And the well-being of your friends. However, these worries are unfounded. I've already told you, Alan, that the material we covered in class this morning was simply review, to prepare everyone for the topics ahead."

"Yes, sir, but—"

"Furthermore," Mr. Ratburn cuts in, his voice growing sharper, "Principal Haney already knows that I am a very diligent and capable teacher who has a past history of nurturing students to reach success."

"Oh," the principal starts. "Yes, that's right."

"You've never had any problems with me?"

"Oh, no."

"No complaints from any parents?"

"Never. Mr. Ratburn is one of this school's best teachers," the principal says warmly. "You are very lucky to have him, kids."

"Is that all, then?" Mr. Ratburn inquires. Alan looks very much unsatisfied, but even he quivers under Mr. Ratburn's glare.

"Yes, yes," says Principal Haney, who is clearly eager to retreat to his office to deal with blander matters. "Sorry to have bothered you, Mr. Ratburn."

"Oh, it was no problem at all," Mr. Ratburns answers airily. "Although, students, keep in mind that next time you have a problem with my teaching methods, you should come to me directly instead of unnecessarily involving Principal Haney. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Mr. Ratburn," echoes five voices. Judging from their faces, it is also very clear that none of them will ever do such a thing.

* * *

That night:

"The mission was almost compromised today," Niger Ratburn confesses.

It takes a few seconds before a voice crackles out of the speaker. "Was it?"

"I managed to salvage it," the teacher says. "But it is inevitable that a problem will pop up again soon."

"I have faith that you will be able to deal with it when it occurs," the voice says. "We at the Woodlake School are counting on you, Nigel."

"I do not forget that, Principal Yenah," Niger Ratburn says quietly.

"So you will continue to sabotage students at the Lakewood School?"

"Yes.

"Remember, the budget money we receive from the city depends on your success," the voice reminds Nigel. "If we show that our school is superior to Lakewood's, we will receive more money, which means more funding for our clubs and extracurricular activities."

"I know that. I will serve you and our school, always."

"Thank you, Nigel."

The line goes silent. Nigel Ratburn sits for a while at his desk, feeling no guilt and no remorse.

You see, before Nigel Ratburn became a teacher at the Lakewood School, he was a student at the rivaling Woodlake School.

* * *

**Is the plot wacky? Yeah. Does it provide the explanation for why Arthur is still in third grade that PBS refuses to give? Yeah.**

**Meh, this is fanfiction. I'm allowed to have fun.**


End file.
